


In Between

by Isavuu



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gift, Just a cute little oneshot, Nightshift Bucky, Reader Insert, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, modern!AU, nervous!reader, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 15:04:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13192635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isavuu/pseuds/Isavuu
Summary: A comforting story in between Christmas and New Year's, modern!AU where you're next door neighbors with that mysterious Bucky Barnes and the heat in his apartment goes out. Nothing but fluff ensues.





	In Between

The snow and temperature fall at an alarming rate once the sun sets behind the New York skyline. You sit with your knees pulled close to your chest, and your cold fingers wrapped tightly around a mug of hot chocolate in your windowsill. Outside is drenched in navy blue and is beginning to get sprinkles of yellow from New Yorkers turning on their lights. Sighing contently, you rest your head against the side of your window, taking in this strange time between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. There are still the unmistakable outlines of pine trees in some of the neighboring building’s windows, but the news has been gearing everyone up for the annual Times Square ball drop and resolutions for the new year.

A familiar click of your heat turning on, followed by an equally familiar thump against a shared wall causes you to turn your head away from the window, to the other side of your living room. The vent under your windowsill blows welcomed, hot air onto your feet and another thump from the other wall makes you stand up. You put your mug of hot chocolate down and move to the other side of your apartment, pressing your ear against your seemingly paper-thin wall.

This was an almost daily occurrence, as you know your neighbors can hear whenever you drop something heavy or have your television on too loudly. However, when it comes from _this_ wall, you always have a morbid curiosity as to what was happening behind it. An absolutely gorgeous, yet quiet and mysterious man lives in the apartment next to yours. He had caught you in the lobby all those years ago when you moved in and helped bring box after box into your new dwelling. You pass each other often, and you always make an effort to at least smile at him. He has even entrusted you with a spare key to his apartment if he were ever locked out. There is just something about him that makes you feel instantly comfortable, yet painfully nervous at the same time. 

Pressed against your wall, you can hear him banging on something, then cursing at whatever was displeasing him. You hear him move around his apartment with heavy footsteps, rustling things. Suddenly, you hear his door slam and silence follows. It’s a little early for him to be leaving, so you push yourself off the wall and check time on the glowing clock of your microwave to confirm your thoughts. You shrug your shoulders and retrieve your now lukewarm drink. 

Three knocks on your door echo through your tiny, studio apartment and you jump in surprise. Your drink is jostled enough to spill some of the liquid over your hands and drip onto the floor. Swearing under your breath, unsure what to tend to first, you call out to the visitor, “One mo-, uh, sorry!” Quickly placing the drink down on your coffee table, you cringe a little at the likely ring that will form before you rush to your door. For some reason, you swing it open wildly, forgoing the safety of checking the peephole. 

“Hey,” the man standing in front of you says in that low timbre that makes your chest swell.

You take his presence in for a moment before speaking in confusion, “Bucky?” He is swaddled up in as many layers as you presume he can put on, yet you can tell underneath most of it is his work uniform. 

“My heater broke sometime when I was sleeping, and I have work in an hour,” he pauses for a second, trying to figure out his words carefully so he doesn’t come off as creepy, “I was wondering if I could just warm up before I go, my work is pretty cold.”

Your eyes widen, unsure what to say. Organizing your thoughts in your head is sometimes a process for you, and what comes out usually isn’t what you planned. He shifts his weight uncomfortably, then takes a step back, saying with regret, “I’m so sorry, this was a bad idea.”

“N-No!” you shake your head and open your door wider for him, gesturing for him to come inside your toasty apartment, “please…”

The corner of his lips turn up into a half smile and he cautiously walks inside, slipping off his work boots beside the door. You shut it behind him and watch as he peels off the layers of coats he had on, until he’s left in a tight, black undershirt. With the pile of clothes in his arms, he looks around for a place to put them, trying to be as respectful as possible. You take them from him and set it all down on a chair next to your door. 

“Um, there’s my couch,” you say, pointing to the furniture, meaning to invite him to sit. He just nods and takes your unspoken invitation. Your eye catches your half empty mug of cocoa, and the subsequent ring that has formed under it. Picking it up quickly, you use your sleeve to wipe the excess off of your table.

Bucky watches you carefully, then politely asks, “Is that hot chocolate?”

“What? Oh, y-yeah. Do you want it?” you say quickly, then look down at the partially drunken and spilled cup, “N-not this one- another one, a different one. Uh, fresh.” You are mentally kicking yourself, expecting him to laugh at how you stumble across your words.

He sees the frown that has formed on your lips, assuming it’s because of him, he shakes his head, “I don’t want to put you out, it’s fine.”

“I-I can get you one,” you say, relief flooding over you that he didn’t even smirk at your struggle to speak to him. You go to your kitchen, conveniently only a few feet away in your cramped space. After dumping your current mug into your sink, you pour more milk into a pot. While it heats, you take out two fresh mugs, then add the cocoa powder to the milk. You don’t see Bucky, who is twisted on your couch to watch you. His arm on the back of the furniture with his chin resting on his hand. 

“You make hot chocolate the right way,” he comments after a while. You glance back at him, blushing when you see his soft smile. Your lips mimic his and you simply nod in response. Once the mixture is poured into the mugs, you sprinkle some marshmallows on top. Picking them up carefully, not wanting to spill on yourself again, especially with hot liquid, you go back into the living room and hand one of the mugs to the man sitting on your couch. He eagerly takes it to warm his hands, and brings it up to his face, enjoying the warm steam and chocolate scent. You sit down on the other side of the couch, watching him the whole time as you have never seen someone look that grateful for a cup of cocoa. 

You sip your new, hot drink, building up the courage to say something to break the silence. “So,” you start, hoping you’ll find the words along the way, but are only able to ask, “night shift?”

He looks up from his cup to meet your curious eyes, as he answers, “Yes, I’ve been working graveyard at a security company for a couple of months now. Don’t know how I feel about it yet.”

Nodding your head in understanding, you continue, “No one else? Y-you work alone?”

“Yeah,” he says, his eyes turning away from yours. You turn your head to see what he’s looking at, your disheveled basket of yarn and a half-finished pair of mittens you are knitting for yourself. 

“S-sorry,” you say as you kick the basket further under your coffee table, cheeks reddening from embarrassment.

His brow scrunches for a moment as he catches your eyes again, “Don’t be, knitting is great, my mom used to make the best sweaters.”

“Oh, I don’t actually… like making stuff. I mean, clothes, t-they’re kind of boring.”

He chuckles a bit, and your heart drops, thinking he’s laughing at you, until he speaks, “Boring, huh? Never thought of that. Why do you do it then?”

“Um,” you pause, not quite knowing how to answer his simple question that has a complicated answer, so you try to simplify, “it just… helps.”

“Hm,” is all he says, a look of true understanding in his eyes that you’ve never seen in anyone else before. It makes you feel warm and safe, even though letting a man you hardly know sit in your living room is way out of your comfort zone. 

For the rest of the hour, conversation flows easily with Bucky. Easier than with anyone else you’ve talked to since moving to New York. Although you only talk about things like the weather, the holidays that just passed, and hot chocolate, it feels like so much more to you. He’s so patient, and watches you so intently, even when you are struggling to get what you want to say out of your head, or you’re stuttering on seemingly simple words. Maybe it’s because he really cares what you have to say, or maybe it’s because he just wanted somewhere to warm up before work, you don’t care. The only thing you care about is the time running out and him having to leave. 

He checks his watch during a lull in the conversation, and sighs softly, “I have to get ready to go.” You get up quickly to take his empty mug from him so he can stand. As you walk to your kitchen and put the mugs in the sink, Bucky begins putting all of his layers back on. You meet him by the door and unlatch the locks. Once his last coat is on, and his boots are laced back up, he stands up straight and smiles down at you.

Opening the door, you return the smile and say, “Have a good day at work. I-I mean… night, I guess.” 

“Thank you, (Y/N), enjoy the rest of your night,” he replies, although the look on his face and the hesitation to cross the threshold into the hall implies that he has something more to say.

You glance around the room to make sure he’s not forgetting anything, before locking eyes with him. He reaches out and takes your hand in his huge, calloused ones, causing a gasp to escape you. Bucky’s cheeks are tinged just as pink as his full lips, and he begins to speak, “Really, thank you for everything. You’re the nicest dame in all of New York City.”

“B-Bucky, I-I,” you stutter, your nerves are shot, and you can feel your pulse in your ears.

“No one else smiles at me like you do, sometimes that’s the best part of my day,” he continues, his cheeks darkening the more he talks, “It means everything to me.”

It feels like all of the words you have ever learned are suddenly drained from mind, and you’re speechless while your eyes tear up. He doesn’t give you enough time to answer, as he checks his watch again, and realizes he’s about to run late if he doesn’t leave now. For a third time, he says, “Thank you,” as he brings your hand up to brush your fingertips on his lips. Then, he’s out the door, and you’re watching him walk down the hall and turn towards the stair case. 

The mysterious stranger next door doesn’t seem so mysterious anymore, and you can’t remember the last time you felt this mix of happiness and excitement. There’s no possible way you’re going to be able to sleep now. You shut your door and drop to the ground beside your table, pulling out the basket of yarn and getting to work.

\--

The following morning, Bucky climbs the stairs to the floor of his apartment, eyes heavy and feet tired. He trudges down the hall, and smiles when he sees something sitting outside of his door. He kneels and picks up a homemade, hand-knitted teddy bear. It has a big smile made out of buttons and he laughs as quietly as he can, knowing how thin the walls are. Feeling something on its back, he turns it over and finds a note taped to the yarn. 

_Bucky,_  
_Hopefully, this will make you smile more often, I can tell that you need it as much as I do._  
_Sorry I wasn’t able to say this to you, writing is so much easier, but please feel free to come over more often. I’d love to get to know you better._  
_I’ve emailed the building super, so you should be coming home to heat! Although maybe I should have just left it, to give you an excuse to come over again._  
_See you soon,_  
_(Y/N)_  
_P.S. Merry late Christmas, maybe I’ll knit you a sweater for New Year’s_  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and a big thank you to [Sara](https://starfisharchives.tumblr.com/) for the header image!  
> !   
> This is a request for MicrowavedFairy! You too can win a gift oneshot if you're a frequent reader and commenter on my main fanfiction, whatever it may be at the time!  
> I appreciate all comments, kudos, and bookmarks! <3


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